Love Wears a Mask
by Phoebe Malfoy
Summary: When Hermione is dragged away from her studies by her father to attend an amateur golf tournament in Southern California, she thinks she's in for nothing more than a few days of boredom, American-style. Little does she know that a certain someone is also
1. Love Tells No Lies

Chapter One: Love Tells No Lies

"Could you love a man named Ocard, Candy?" he whispered huskily.

The wind stirred softly in the willows above their heads, and Hermione heard whispers of accusation in the rustling. How could she expect the heart and soul of a man to whom she had told nothing but lies? Every day since she had met him--was it only yesterday? It seemed ages--she had longed to fling her arms about his neck just as she longed to fling off the chains of her lies. She longed to run her fingers through his hair and beg for his forgiveness. "Ocard," she breathed, "how can I love a man of any other name?"

The expression in his eyes clouded briefly. "Ocard. I'm not--fond--of that name, my dearest."

"It is your name."

He sighed huskily, drawing her to him. She felt the muscles of his chest and slim neck ripple under his tight black t-shirt and designer jeans, felt his arms travel slowly up from her waist, gently caress the small of her back, and tighten almost painfully as they reached her shoulders--

"But Ocard--" her voice stopped as she drew in a deep, husky breath-- "You--you cannot love me. I have not revealed to you who I truly am."

"Oh, Candy, I---" He paused for a moment, as though steeling himself, and then leaned forward the slight inch it took for his lips to meet hers--Hermione was drowning in his kiss, in his mercurial gaze, and then her mind was drawn irresistibly to the moment in which she had first laid eyes on those silvery, penetrating orbs....

********

"Gerald, dear," Mrs. Granger said placatingly, "do you really think we need to take Hermione along with us to your amateur golf tournament in Southern California?"

Hermione's father frowned down at his daughter, wondering absently when she had grown up to be so...well, there was no other word for it. Over the few weeks since his daughter had left Hogwarts for the summer holidays after her sixth year, she had grown to be beautiful. Her bronze-hued hair, far from its original bushiness, had transformed into glossy, silky locks that tumbled endearingly over her slender shoulders, left bare by the close-fitting sundress she wore, its curves hugging her hourglass figure. He wondered if her friends from school would even recognize her that fall--particularly the tall, red-haired one whose eyes had followed her so lasciviously as she stepped out of the barrier at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Gerald hadn't liked that look at the time, and now that Hermione was so loudly protesting being forced to cancel her plans at the Weasley's for the rest of the summer, he found himself being almost grateful for the timing of his amateur golf tournament in Southern California.

"Candy," he said tiredly, using the pet name she'd had since she was small, "it would mean a lot to me if you would come with us. You might like California."

"I was hoping to see Harry and Ron this summer," she said.

"You'll be able to see them in September."

She sighed. "Very well, Father."

And so it was decided.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you like it so far! The next chap. will be up soon!


	2. Love is not fleeting

Love Wears a Mask

Chapter Two: Love is not fleeting

            Hermione sighed, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing down the blue flower-print sundress she wore, leaning back in her chair and gazing apathetically across the dimly-lit dining lounge at the Palm Coast resort.  She was exactly three hours into her "Southern Californian adventure," and things had gone from bad to worse ever since she'd stepped off the plane.  She was startled out of her reverie by a surprisingly refined British voice, which came from somewhere over her head.

            "Excuse me," the voice said, "is this seat taken?"

            Hermione looked up to meet the gaze of the most attractive young man she'd ever had the privilege to visually devour.  His finely sculpted face was a vision of high cheekbones and chiseled features, his hair was made of fine, silky brown waves just waiting to be touched, his physique muscular enough to be inescapably masculine but slim enough to appeal to Hermione's sense of aesthetics.  But his eyes were the crowning glory of a near-perfect masterpiece, twin pools of liquid silver that threatened to capture her soul…

            "No," she managed to say, hoping she sounded more self-possessed than she felt.  "No, of course not."  He grinned at her almost shyly, causing her heart to turn over within her stomach, and took the chair opposite her.  She smiled back, wondering why on earth he'd come over.  _Oh, well,_ she thought.  _I'm not about to complain.  Oh, please don't let me throw up._

            "It's nice to see someone else my own age," he said, answering her unspoken question.  "Amateur golf tournaments in Southern California don't tend to attract many teenagers.  Especially such lovely young women as yourself….I'm afraid we haven't introduced ourselves?"

            Hermione dared raise her eyes again to meet his, the mercurial orbs sending a spark of electricity that jarred her, though in a not entirely unpleasant way.  She caught her breath, then gave him the most confident smile she could muster.  "No, of course not.  I'm-" she stopped.  Hermione Granger had never been good with boys, or particularly smooth.  This was her chance.  She used the first thing she could think of.  "Candy.  Actually, I'm not.  Candy, that is.  But that's my name."  She winced inwardly.  Smooth, Hermione, smooth!  She laughed lightly and flipped her hair over her shoulder.  "But they say I'm just as sweet."  

            "That much is obvious," the stranger laughed, his eyes following the smooth arc of her hair over her creamy, bare shoulder, then tearing themselves up to her face as though shocked by their own forwardness.  "My name—my name is Ocard, Candy."  Then, looking over his shoulder to the half-empty dance floor where a slow, rhythmic salsa was playing, he glanced back at her, his eyes suddenly almost mischievous.  "Do you dance?"

            Hermione had always been fond of dancing, having had a few lessons when she was younger.  She'd always been embarrassed to use it at Hogwarts, though.  After everything that Harry and Ron had done to her after going to the Yule ball with Victor, she couldn't imagine what they'd do if they saw her break into a salsa routine.  However, she thought, this wasn't Hermione.  She was Candy now.  And Candy liked to salsa.  Her lips curled upward.  "I do."  Let him ask if he wanted to ask.

            She should have known that such a response would be too predictable for this mysterious new acquaintance.  Rather than asking for a dance, as any conventional person would do, he stood suddenly, but with a fluid grace that gave her some clue as to his skills on the dance floor.  His hand snaked forward across the table, grasping her own gently but firmly and spinning her gracefully out of her seat and into his arms.  "May I have this dance?" he queried in a husky, sensual voice, somewhat belatedly in Hermione's opinion.

            She caught her breath in her throat at the shock of being at such proximity to him.  She was pressed tightly against him, and she could feel his toned chest on the other side of the filmy material.  "I suppose," she breathed tartly. The next moment, she found herself dipped low in his strong arms, and then they had made it out onto the dance floor.  She was being swept away by the music and by the rhythm of his step, her hips swaying with his to the beat of the accompaniment.  The crowd of dancers seemed to part around them, allowing their dancing to become increasingly complex as he guided her through a series of intricate steps, and then she was held, once again, in that firm embrace, as they swayed gently in time to the drum.

            "Well?" he asked, a pleased smile curving those firm lips as he surveyed her, obviously appreciating her responsiveness to his guiding hand.  She took a breath to reply, not sure what she planned to say, and then she felt a subtle change in his grasp around her waist and looked up to find the silver eyes gone cold and staring above her head at a spot near the door.

            "Ocard?" she asked, concerned with this sudden alteration in his mood.

            "I'm sorry," he said, voice suddenly rushed and lacking the gentle sophistication that had marked it earlier.  His hands released her, leaving her suddenly empty and alone, and he took a hesitating step away, turning back momentarily, the obvious indecision in his eyes paining her.

            "What is it?"

            "I must go."  And without further explanation, he was gone.

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers!!!  You're the best!  Is the format any better?  I tried to fix it.  I hope you like where this is going! R/R!


	3. Love Gives No Warning

Love Wears a Mask

Chapter Three: Love Gives No Warning

            Hermione ducked furtively behind a bush on the first green.  She peered over her shoulder cautiously, searching for any sign that she was not alone.  It was a clear night, and she was dressed in close-fitting black jeans and a tight black t-shirt with a V-neck.  Her hair was pulled back in a low bun that glinted with faint undertones of brass and shimmering cinnamon in the light of the crescent moon, and she wore a black headband, just for effect.  She was attempting to sneak out to the fourth green.  Being out on the course past midnight was against the rules of the club, and Hermione's parents would have her skin if they found out that she had stealthily crept out of her room at the resort, but she knew she had to complete her essay on the relationship between the early morning summer sky and the variables of arithmancy, and she had no hope of doing so without more data.  She'd noticed that afternoon that the fourth green provided a perfect view of the sector of the heavens she wished to see, and it had a conveniently placed copse of trees, perfect for hiding should anyone happen upon her late-night sojourn.

            She had heard a rustling behind her scant moments before, and thus had sought the concealing shelter of the leafy, full-branched bush.  Peering through the foliage, however, she was able to see nothing unusual, so she crept slowly from her hiding place and made her way surreptitiously toward the fourth hole.

            She still was unable to avoid the distinct sentiment that she was being followed, and despite her attempts to curb her obstreperous sixth sense, the impression became so overwhelming that she slid once again into a clump of bushes, maneuvering agilely through the flora.  She sat up slowly, bright eyes darting and searching for any sign of her follower, and her outstretched hand encountered something-someone.  Hermione opened her mouth to scream, but felt a hand press itself against her soft, full lips before the cry could be uttered.

            "It's me," whispered a familiar, husky voice.  "Don't scream, Candy."  The strong hand fell away from her lips, and she caught her breath, feeling her heart pounding as though a drum inside her chest.  She turned to see him sitting beside her.  Ocard, the boy who just that evening had taken her by surprise and then left her standing, alone and bereft, on the dance floor.  She had dismissed the incident as best she could and decided to turn her mind to studying as much as was possible while she was here in Southern California.  But here he was again, apparently following her while on her midnight studying session.  _Oops_, she thought blithely.  _I appear to be in a somewhat unfortunate position.  How to explain my presence here amidst the bushes?_

            They sat in silence for a long, heated moment, eyes locked together, before she grew nervous and curious enough to break the spell of the silence.  _Suave_, she reminded herself.  She put on her coolest expression.

            "Why are you following me at this late hour of the night, Ocard?"

            He looked somewhat startled that she had broken the spell of the silence, but he replied smoothly to her probing query, "It isn't safe for anyone to be out here alone.  I saw you leaving the hotel and I felt it was my duty to follow you, to ensure your safety."

            Hermione's eyes grew wide as she noticed, barely sticking out of his pocket-could it be, a wand?  She attempted to appear innocent and unobtrusive.  "What is that?" she questioned with all the naïveté she could muster, as Ocard's eyes followed hers to his pocket.  She could almost hear him gasp inwardly with dismayed realization.

            "Oh, this?" he asked.  If she hadn't known better, she would have bought his hasty assumption of nonchalancy in a moment.  As it stood, she nearly did believe him.  However, he drew it out and it was, without a doubt, a wand.

            She looked at him, extremely curious as to how he intended to explain this accidental disclosure, and their eyes met with a jolt.  He really did have extraordinarily gorgeous eyes, like twin pools of liquid mercury.  She could feel herself begin to drown in those orbs of molten silver-

            "It's a stick I found on the way here, Candy.  I thought it odd that it was so smooth, so I picked it up for later examination."  Was he lying?  No, he couldn't be.  Or did he say.... Hermione couldn't think clearly so near to him.  She shook her head quickly, trying to clear it, and then lifted her hand gently to her forehead.

            "Are you all right," asked Ocard, his voice husky with concern.  His brow furrowed in an extremely attractive way, and he placed his smooth hand against her baby-soft cheek.  She caught her breath, feeling her throat constrict in an agonizing blow of fervor.

            "You feel just fine," he murmured.  He took her hand from her forehead and brought it down, clasping it in his own.  She stared up at him, forgetting her resolve to act self-assured, as she felt his strong grasp entwine her slender fingers in his.  Somehow, he was suddenly very close, and she could smell the faint, subtle scent of cinnamon-

            Footsteps sounded on the trimmed grass outside the stand of bushes.  Hermione and Ocard both hit the ground, the moment shattered.  She felt her face pressed tightly against his shoulder.  They could hear the low murmur of voices and occasional snatches of words.  A cold, cultured British voice was speaking, and Hermione caught the words "in the bushes...can't...the light would be too visible...the bidding of the Master...unable to perform tonight...."  After a little while, there was a moment of silence, a series of popping noises, and then the sound of footsteps receding.  A few more moments passed, and all was quiet.

            Hermione turned her head to look at Ocard.  His fair skin had gone pale, and he did not look at all well to her concerned eyes.

            "O-Ocard?" she whispered.  He shook his head quickly.

"I'm fine.  I told you it wasn't safe out here, Candy."  He peered over the top of the bushes and, seeing no one, helped her up from the ground.

They stole back to the hotel in complete silence, neither willing to be the first to speak.  When they reached the door by which they would enter and part, Hermione took in a deep breath and gathered her courage to speak.  "Ocard-"  He shook his head and raised a finger, placing it gently on her lips, and then leaned forward a scant inch.  His lips brushed hers lightly, scarcely touching, and then he backed away towards the hotel door.  He left as suddenly as he had on the dance floor, leaving her once again to stand, stunned, and wonder if the entire episode had been but a dream.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews!  They make me feel fulfilled as an author, and I think that's very important to let you know.  Please tell me what you think.


	4. Love Plays No Games

Love Wears a Mask

Chapter Four: Love Plays No Games

O:P/O:P

The hot Southern Calfornian sun beat relentlessly down on Hermione's wide-brimmed straw hat, throwing her features into striking shadow. She wore a low-necked sundress that, while by no means form-fitting, fitted her hourglass form with seamless perfection. A brand new, pure white tennis racket swung from her lightly-tanned hand as she casually stepped onto the tennis court of the Palm Coast resort. It would be a pity if she were forced to try to play tennis alone; her smooth brow creased in mild disapproval at the empty playing area. Perhaps she would come back later… A footstep echoed behind her, and she spun to see who it was. Standing before her, his rich-hued brown threads of hair gleaming in stark contrast to his tennis whites, his racket jauntily cocked against his shoulder, was Ocard.

"Good morning." Somehow he managed to make those three innocuous syllables seem infinitely…well, sexy was really the only word for it, despite the casual tone he used. "Do you play?" he asked, glancing down at her racket.

"A bit," she replied breezily, her easygoing voice in frank denial of the suddenly heavy pounding of her fluttering heart.

"How…convenient," he said with a smile that turned her weak at the knees. "I'm heading out to the court myself. Care for a match?"

"Oh, no thank you. I don't smoke." Confusion was born suddenly in his masculine features, and she realized with a flush of embarrassment that she had mistaken his meaning in her temporary state of mental oblivion due to his intoxicating proximation. She laughed quickly, trying to usurp her humiliating blunder. He joined her belatedly, obviously assuming she had actually meant to be witty.

Before he could observe the comely flush that suffused her alabaster cheeks in embarrassment, she traipsed hurriedly to the other side of the court, raising her racket coquettishly and indicating that she was ready to begin whenever he was, in turn. "Shall we warm up, then?" she trilled playfully.

"No need, is there?" he returned in a throbbingly masculine voice, bringing his racket down in an expertly aimed swing at the ball which appeared in his hand as if by magic. She was stunned by his sudden movements and watched in purely aesthetic appreciation of his muscular coordination, turning herself only too late to the matter at hand. Her hasty return swing caught the ball on the edge of her racket, barely sending it back over the net; it hit the green court well outside the boundary line, and it was Ocard's point. His eyes gleamed at her over the net, and she returned the look with a level, challenging stare.

Several volleys later, his finely-crafted eyebrow had risen a half inch in indication of his astonishment at her level of mastery of the game; it was now her serve, and Hermione was sufficiently tuned in to the game that her forehead and temples had begun to shine with light perspiration. She felt exuberantly involved in their physical competition, and was enjoying immensely the unparalleled opportunity to watch the work of art that was her opponent in finely directed motion. His musculature was admirably suited to the game, as it was to observation.

She drew back her arm, calling out to him. "Now that I'm sufficiently warmed up, Ocard, I'm prepared to offer you a rather more formidable challenge." He laughed once, a sound that would have been mocking were it not so warm and…sexy. Somehow, her mind seemed to fixate on that particular adjective whenever he was present.

A second later, she had loosed her serve, which she was prepared to send soaring straight to the back of his court. The swing was one smooth motion running from her toes straight up through her toned body, along her arm to her wrist and finally resting on the racket she held with a firm grip; the contact was made, and she felt the impact of the ball directly in the center of the racket. Yet something was wrong; the impact felt far more intense than had any of her previous swings. As she continued into the follow through, a shockwave seemed to follow directly opposite the earlier path of her motion, shaking her from her fingertips right back down to her toes; Hermione gasped as the world exploded in a haze of fire….

The carriage floor jerked along beneath her, causing Hermione to shift uncomfortably on the leather-covered seat as she was awakened from a deep, heavy slumber. Her thick eyelashes fluttered briefly and then lifted, and her astonished brown eyes were surprised to meet the intensely gazing libidinous blue eyes of Ronald Weasley.

"Ron," she said in confusion at the strangely preoccupied façade he exuded to the world, and most particularly exuded to her, as she was the one his attentions were drawn to. She wondered musingly for how great a period of time on the train ride he had watched her while she dozed. "What are you looking at?"

He shook himself violently, averting his gaze from her face and turning away. "Nothing," he returned hoarsely, his gaze strenuously averted.

She rose fluidly to her feet and peered about the carriage of the Hogwarts Express, noting as she did so its complete and utter emptiness except for the aforementioned presences of both herself and Ron. Suddenly, the train lurched; the carriage fell into blackness and Hermione fell into Ron's arms.

"Where's Harry, Ron?" Hermione whispered, winded from the sudden collision.

"Oh, Hermione," Ron whispered huskily. "Does Harry matter here? Now?" And with that, he covered her mouth in a passionate, voracious kiss.

It was several moments later before Hermione was able again to free her lips from his attentions. When she did so, she breathed in a deep gasp of air and choked out, "Ron, do you really think--" she was cut off briefly for a moment, then pulled herself back once again-- "this is the place or the time?"

He drew back, this time of his own violation, and replied in a voice husky with emotion, "If not here, where? And if not now, when?"

_Nowhere, never! _gasped some remote portion of her brain. The rest of her mind was preoccupied, however, not with answering passion at the advances he had made but with confusion and a freezing paralysis. She finally listened to the rational section of her brain and managed a reply. "Ron, I just think… I don't know if this is best… We really should do our homework, don't you think?" Her voice ended on a note of desperation.

The lights flickered on just in time for Hermione to catch the look of incredulity that suffused Ron's amply freckled features. Hermione must have been wearing an interesting mask of her own because when Harry opened the door to the compartment, he hesitated for a moment before entering. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything," Harry joked, cracking a smile and giving a baritone chuckle. The red that grew somehow brighter on Ron and the nonchalance with which Harry commenced eating a sandwich convinced Hermione that Harry's jibe had been completely innocent.

"No," Ron muttered, his voice sullen with frustration as he released Hermione's waist, "We were just doing… homework."

She sank slowly down into her seat, the blood pounding in her ears and her head spinning in confusion. Her heart beat at twice its normal rate, thumping against her ribs until she feared that the bone would splinter and crack or the heart itself burst from exertion, whichever happened first.

Harry frowned down at her. "Candy--Candy, are you all right, my darling?"

That felt wrong, somehow. Harry didn't know about her little nickname, and she was anything but his darling, Witch Weekly articles notwithstanding.

"For Merlin's sake, my darling Candy, will you not awaken?"

Her thick eyelashes fluttered briefly and then lifted, and her astonished brown eyes were surprised to meet the intensely gazing concerned silver eyes of Ocard, her knight in shining armor. Except for the fact that he was neither wearing armor nor a knight. In fact, he was a wizard. _Close enough,_ she thought, as she gazed into Ocard's deep, misty spheres.


	5. Love Heals No Wounds

Love Wears a Mask

Chapter Five: Love Heals No Wounds

Hermione gazed up at the glistening specimen of young manhood above her. She distantly realized that her breathing had become short, and she dimly wondered why. The eyebrows of the face above her were drawn together in a worried expression, and it moved suddenly. She attempted to protest, but found it difficult to speak. She ended up uttering a sort of plaintive whimper, and the face returned briefly.

"Shhh…." it said, and stroked her hair before disappearing once more. The light faded….

She awoke once more, much more clear-headed. The sun was lower in the sky, and her handsome stranger was sitting nearby. He moved swiftly to her side as he saw her attempt to stand up. He moved his hand beneath her back and aided her until she was sitting. She frowned at him in confusion. "What happened?" She glanced down and gasped. Crimson blood was pooled on the tennis court where she had lain. "And whose is that?" She quickly scanned his body with her eyes. "Are you all right?"

Ocard looked distinctly uncomfortable. "It's… it's yours, my dear. But don't worry. It… healed… while you slept."

A smile slowly suffused her features. "It's all right, my dear hero. Thank you for taking care of me." And with that her hand reached forward and snatched the wand from his pocket before he had a chance to react. He stared at her, dumbfounded, as she performed a simple cleaning charm to get rid of the blood. She handed it back to him, the tennis court sparkling beneath her and her lips twisting in a knowing smirk.

His expression changed; he now appeared-- intrigued? Hermione only had the chance for this one thought before she felt his arm wrap around her shoulders and the world shift around her. When it settled back down, his strong arms caught her as she fell, but he made no sign of releasing her. As she caught her breath, she took in her surroundings-- they were beneath the willow tree on the fourth green. She looked up only to have her breath taken away once more as her eyes met Ocard's intense gaze.

"I brought us here so we could talk more privately," he remarked, his voice low and husky. He added, offhand, as his eyes twinkled with bemusement, "Besides, it's more romantic."

Hermione laughed lightly, the heavy mood broken. "But why, my darling, when there are such better things to do?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise but quickly acted, pulling her into a deep kiss. They parted at last, breathless.

"Could you love a man named Ocard, Candy?" he whispered huskily. The wind stirred softly in the willows above their heads, and Hermione heard whispers of accusation in the rustling. How could she expect the heart and soul of a man to whom she had told nothing but lies. She longed to run her fingers through his hair and beg for his forgiveness. "Ocard," she breathed, "how can I love a man of any other name?" The expression in his eyes clouded briefly. "Ocard. I'm not--fond--of that name, my dearest."

"It is your name."

He sighed huskily, drawing her to him. She felt the muscles of his chest and slim neck ripple under his tight black t-shirt and designer jeans, felt his arms travel slowly up from her waist, gently caress the small of her back, and tighten almost painfully as they reached her shoulders--

"But Ocard--" her voice stopped as she drew in a deep breath-- "You-- you cannot love me. I have not revealed to you who I truly am."

"Oh, Candy, I--" He paused for a moment, as though steeling himself, and then leaned forward the slight inch it took for his lips to meet hers-- Hermione was drowning in his kiss, in his mercurial gaze, and then her mind was drawn irresistibly to the moment in which she had first laid eyes on those silvery, penetrating orbs.

She pulled back from him slightly, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. He frowned in concern and reached up to brush it away. As he did so, she caught his hand and her tears flowed more freely. "Oh, Ocard. My name isn't Candy. That's just a silly nickname my father gave me when I was little. I just wanted, " she took a deep breath, trying to speak through her anguish, "I just wanted to have fun. I wanted to be someone else, just for a little while. I never realized I would… " She sniffled, trying to hold back her tears, and she was unable to go on.

"Oh, darling," he interrupted. "Don't say it. There's no need to apologize, for in truth I have concealed a great deal about my own past for the time I have known you."

She managed a lighthearted chuckle through the lump in her throat. "Including the fact that you are a wizard. I wondered, that first night--but then you healed me, Ocard, and my suspicions were proven beyond doubt. But you needn't have concealed that, you see, for I am as aware of the magical world as you are."

He laughed himself, a chagrined look accepting the validation of her arguments. "But I had no way of knowing that, dear Candy; the mere thought of finding a likeminded soul at an amateur golf tournament in Southern California would have seemed quite impossible, had it ever occurred to me to imagine that I could find such a person."

"Please, Ocard," she interrupted, "I would like to hear you say my true name. Please call me Hermione."

He stared at her in astonishment, his features turned to a look of shock and surprise as his face blanched to a paler shade. She leaned forward and placed her other hand gently on his cheek, terribly concerned at his reaction. "Are you all right?" she begged of him.

"I--I'm perfectly fine," he assured her, though her fears were hardly assuaged by his tremulous assertion; it seemed to her as though he were weighing two profound alternatives in his mind, as though contemplating some deep inner conflict of morality and emotion. "I only--but no." He shook his head with an air of finality. He stared at her intensely for a long moment, his gaze at once searching and confused. Suddenly he reached forward and gripped her shoulders forcefully. He pulled her to him, kissing her much less gently than he had but a moment before. She could taste his hunger, and she willingly fed him. Eventually, he released her, leaving her weak and gasping for breath. "I'm sorry, my darling--my darling _Hermione_." She felt her knees nearly give way again at the unexpected wave of tenderness and excitement that the mere sound of his beautiful, velvety voice pronouncing those short four syllables aroused within her.

She leaned her head against his chest, the beating of his heart echoing through the chambers of her head and comforting her inexplicably. He enfolded her in his arms, and they stood, together, on the fourth green as the wind swirled around them.

A/N: No, that's not the end! Chapter six will be coming soon. For those reviewers who were worried about this fic not falling under the Draco/Hermione section, don't worry! Draco will show himself later… grin Also, I noticed some reviews asking where the fic takes place… it's in the Santa Barbara area. Thanks for all of the excellent reviews! You guys are so great! I hope you keep checking back!


	6. Love is Not Divided

Love Wears a Mask

Chapter Six: Love Is Not Divided

The few remaining days of the amateur golf tournament in Southern California passed quickly. Hermione barely felt time pass at all before it was time to return to England and, soon thereafter, to Hogwarts. She spent practically every waking moment with Ocard. Well, every waking moment, at least, that he wasn't leaving her quickly and with only vague explanation, she mused to herself. The only thing about Ocard that wasn't perfect was the hazy aura of mystery surrounding him. He was beautiful, gallant, courageous, and… well, sexy, of course. He made her laugh, and she felt comfortable telling him everything. But every once in a while, she got the discomforting feeling that his thoughts were elsewhere. She felt this every time she saw the now-familiar haunted, tortured look in his eyes. She always said something quickly to bring him back to her, and it worked flawlessly every time, so she simply tried to enjoy each moment as much as possible and ignore the coming of her departure.

She hadn't forgotten the incident on the tennis courts, either. Of course she replayed the scene with Ocard on the fourth green continuously through her mind every second she wasn't with him, but she also considered the events leading up to it. He had given her no reassurances about her exploding tennis racket; he had only said a few words about how perhaps Muggle sports and magical people didn't mix, and then made some witty comment about the "rapid fire" of her game. It wasn't so much these things that bothered her, however, as it was the fact that after he had said these things, he had drawn her closer to him and voiced a murmured warning with an unbidden undertone of sincerity to it. "Be careful, my darling," he had whispered. "There are those who aren't fond of Muggleborns."

The morning after the final day of the tournament dawned bright and clear. The dazzling sun rose over the pink ocean, and the trees along the shoreline were tinged with amber as the glowing sphere heralded another day of beauty in the Southern Californian hills. Hermione and Ocard watched it silently, sitting next to each other on the beach with Ocard's arm draped around Hermione's shoulder and her head resting against his. They rose as one, finally, turning their backs to the scene on the sparkling water. Hermione sighed and turned to face him.

"I must go now, Ocard. You will owl me? I don't know what I'd do if I-"

"Shhh." Ocard cut her off by placing his finger over her lips. "I know. Of course I will. And I shall eagerly await each of your owls in return." He dipped a low bow before her, bringing her hand to his firm lips. She gripped his hand tightly, tears welling in her eyes, causing his own pale orbs to swim in her vision.

"Hermione," he murmured huskily as he straightened his back in order that he might gaze into her eyes. "I love you."

A single tear slid down Hermione's cheek as she tremulously whispered, "I love you." He brushed her tear away gently, and they kissed one last time, feverishly, before Hermione finally pulled herself away and fled from the beach, back to the hotel where her parents would be waiting.

Ocard watched her retreating back, his face impassive. His eyes, however, displayed a deep sadness and longing. A few minutes had passed when he was startled from his reverie by a popping sound from nearby. He whirled, startled, his wand drawn. The slender man who now stood before him only laughed.

"Put your wand down, son. It's only me, your dear father." A tight smile curved his lips as he glanced around. "I thought I might find you here. Lovely, isn't it? I'm glad you've been able to appreciate your vacation, son, as there is much work to do when we return. I trust you are refreshed?"

Ocard managed somehow to stretch a smile across his mouth. "Yes, quite. Refreshed and ready for the year, Father. I appreciate your leniency with me on this trip. It has done me much good."

The thin man gave his son an appraising look. "Excellent. We need you in top form. You are instrumental to our cause." He shook his head abruptly. "No more talk of this. We must go. I have some business to attend to briefly, but I shall speak with you again when I arrive."

Ocard nodded, his face impassive once more. The man paused briefly before he apparated. "Go quickly, Draco."

A/N:  gasp!   And so, it's finally revealed… thanks for reading this far, guys!  I know most of you saw it coming, but the moment was still fun, wasn't it? : ) Sorry this chapter was so short, but the golf tournament had to end sometime. sniffle   I know… sad.  But don't worry!  The next chapter will pick up the pace again!


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